Fences
by badpirate
Summary: Homestar Runner, everyone's favorite terrific athlete, gets dumped in favor of a guy with a goatee. He might just get through it with a little help from his friends ... and Strong Bad. -betas wanted, reviews loved!-
1. I Trent

**Author's Notes** Hello, cats and kids! Mu here with my first real foray in Homestar Runner fanfiction! -_unenthusiastic applause_- I suppose I should give some notes. I guess the first thing to keep in mind is that the characters are humanized in this story. I'll be giving descriptions as I feel they are necessary. My reasoning for humanizing them is to expand their world a bit. Hopefully, even without this note it will manage to come across in my writing.

My second note is a warning-- this is a _slash_ fanfiction, and therefore contains a romantic pairing of the boy/boy persuasion. If this bothers you, stop reading now. I don't want to offend anyone.

I'm am _very open_ to critique, particularly on characterization and grammar. Don't be shy. I'm also looking for beta readers-- you may PM me if interested!

That all being said, please enjoy!

_If you let me I could_

_I'd show you how to build your fences_

_Set restrictions_

_Separate from the world_

_The constant battle that you hate to fight_

_Just blame the limelight_

_-Fences, Paramore_

**-start chapter-**

"Is _your_ girlfriend gonna be on television tonight?"

Strong Bad was eye level with his least favorite of all shapes -- the star. Bright white and shiny against the candy cane red shirt that Homestar always seemed to wear. Why wear a shirt if it's just going to be the _same_ shirt everyday? Sometimes Homestar would mix it up and throw a duck or a lobster his way, but he might as well have that star tattooed to his chest. Shirts were stupid, anyway. Why define yourself by the clothes on your back when you can let your awesome bod do the work for you? This was one of the many reasons Strong Bad shunned most forms of clothing.

Perpetual shirtlessness was a much better alternative as far as he was concerned. The only accessories he required were a pair of boots his dad gave him for his seventeenth birthday, some red leather biker gloves with the fingers snipped off and a mask. He was his own man.

A single man. But still his own man.

"Homestar, I don't _have_ a freakin' girlfriend! And what are you going on about?" Despite his distaste for conversations with Homestar Runner, Strong Bad was intrigued enough to peel his eyes from his laptop's screen. Homestar stood there, grinning ear to ear with what Strong Bad regarded as an all too familiar smile. The lanky intruder always seemed to be somewhere he shouldn't be. In particular, he seemed fond of breaking and entering into Strong Bad's house, namely Strong Bad's computer room.

"Marzipan's gonna be on Free Country Idol tonight," he said proudly, his grin turning smug, He placed a hand on the desk and leaned as nonchalantly as he could. He raised an eyebrow and smirked a bit more. "I'm gonna have a famous, rockstar girlfriend. You're probably jealous right about now."

Strong Bad rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, real jealous," he muttered as sarcastically as he could. Truth be told, one of his many childhood dreams involved having a rockstar girlfriend, and the very idea that Homestar was going to accomplish this irked him more than he'd like to let on. Homestar seemed to pick up on this, in spite of Strong Bad's best efforts. The masked man glanced at Homestar's hand, eyes narrowed from behind the black vinyl. He swatted the appendage away in disdain.

"You can come to the King of Town's castle tonight and watch her kick butt and take names, if you'd like. Everyone's gonna be there," Homestar said, doing his best to sound generous.

"Homestar, there's only, like, ten people in this stupid hick town. If everyone steps out of their house we're all in one place," Strong Bad replied, visibly irritated. He tapped his chin in thought. "But fine, I'll be there. Just to see blondie crash and burn on national television."

He smiled at the idea. The national humiliation of Marzipan? That was like his birthday and Decemberween, strapped to a rocket and covered in milk chocolate. The smile turned devious.

"Great! I'll see ya there," Homestar giggled and with a wave he was gone. Strong Bad gagged in disgust. It was torture seeing the scrawny little nerd so happy. He returned to his e-mail in the hopes of forgetting all about the event while he weeded out unsuitable e-mails for his almost-sometimes-sort of-weekly update.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem possible. Not only was Homestar giddy about the event, but Strong Bad's own family was excited to see Marzipan, the neighborhood's only female resident, on television that night. Strong Mad spent the bulk of his afternoon making a 'Marzipan' t-shirt in a size that couldn't possibly fit Strong Mad's massive body. Strong Bad just tsked, but it was hard to judge Strong Mad too harshly. Even he had to admit that Marzipan was more than decent to his misunderstood brother, and their relationship wasn't entirely vomit inducing.

Strong Bad's baby brother, however, was practically born to be ridiculed and today was no exception.

"I see you're excited for all this ..._ hooplah_," Strong Bad snorted, propped up against his brother's depressingly purple wall. He tried not to seem excited that he managed to slide the word_ 'hooplah'_ into everyday conversation. His desk calender at work would be mighty proud.

"Oh yes, I'm very excited," Strong Sad replied. He didn't sound a nearly as excited as he claimed to be. That was hardly his fault, he never sounded excited. The pale boy turned his computer chair around, almost smiling, his emo-kid haircut falling across his right eye. "I think Marzipan has a good shot at winning. I've been texting my votes in all week."

"Didn't I flush your cellphone down the toilet?" Strong Bad asked. Strong Sad sighed dejectedly. "Yes, but I managed to retrieve it. It still works ... it just smells a little ... _off_."

Strong Bad snorted and waltzed out of the room. He'd have to think of a better way to get rid of that black and grey piece of plastic eventually, but having Strong Sad text his nerdy art school friends with a smelly cellphone was pretty awesome.

"All this excitement and buzz is just gonna make her failure all that much sweeter," he reasoned aloud to himself as he headed for his basement. He glanced at the clock and then at his brother Strong Mad, who was pacing around and asking The Cheat for the time repeatedly

"It ain't freaking _on yet_, man, so chill out! We got a few hours," The Cheat replied, his patience with his big buddy growing thinner by the second. The young boy's arms were firmly crossed over his chest, a pout on his freckled face. He jumped at the chance to speak with Strong Bad. "Oh, thank God you're still here. You ain't going, are you?"

Strong Bad smirked. "Yeah, I got a personal invitation from Dorkstar himself," he said. He took a seat on the edge of the couch. "I can't wait to watch Blondilocks make a fool of herself on TV."

The Cheat grimaced. "Guess that means I gotta go, too. Geez. Everyone and their grandma is gonna be there."

"My grandmother will not be making an appearance," Strong Bad assured. At least, he hoped not. Zombie grandmothers, texting their votes in for the next big pop star? No thanks. But that did sound like a movie Strong Bad would totally watch, and he contemplated the idea for a few moments.

The Cheat snapped his fingers in front of Strong Bad's face, bringing him back to reality. "Earth to Strong Bad. Yello? Stop thinking about zombie grandmas."

"We need to stop hanging out so much," Strong Bad muttered, getting more comfortable on the couch. He laid down and propped his head up on his hands. "When's this thing supposed to start, anyway?"

"Eight. Though the way Homestar's been jabbering on about it, you'd think it'd be sooner. Did you know he called me at the crack of dawn this morning just to tell me? I could kill him," The Cheat said, scooting over onto the small space on the couch not occupied by Strong Bad.

Strong Mad interrupted Strong Bad's reply. "WHAT TIME IS IT?"

"It ain't freaking_ time yet!_" The Cheat yelled, left eye twitching. "So just work on your shirt. I'll tell you when we're ready to go!" Strong Bad just chuckled.

A few more outbursts from The Cheat meant the big event was starting. Homestar hadn't been kidding, the entire neighborhood was in The King of Town's castle. The King of Town himself, however, seemed somewhat disoriented by the unannounced guests in his house, and Strong Bad guessed that Homestar hadn't exactly ran the idea past the King prior to inviting everyone.

"Get your Marzipan merchandise here!" Bubs, the neighborhood's local concession stand owner, held up a somewhat unsettling toy replica of the neighborhood's only female occupant. It lacked arms and legs. It didn't have much of a definitive head, either. It was just a long neck with a face scribbled on it. "Two for two ninety-eight! Three for eight ninety-eight!"

"What a deal!" Homestar chirped, and Strong Bad just rolled his eyes. Math was not Homestar's strong point.

He found a decent seat on an arm chair by the television set and propped his feet up on the TV itself.

Strong Bad moodily stared at the television as the other contestants sang their little hearts out. He guffawed a little too loudly at some of the lamer performances, which got him glares from various sources. No one else seemed to pay the television set any mind until Marzipan's name was mentioned as the upcoming singer, and Strong Bad groaned as the party goers gathered around the screen.

Homestar hopped over the couch like it was some sort of hurdle and positioned himself in front of the screen. Pom Pom chuckled and sat beside him, his hopes not too high for Marzipan. But it was hard not to be a little excited when his best friend was a tense ball of energy beside him.

"I think Marzipan has a good--" Strong Sad was silenced by Homestar's hand clapping over his mouth, resulting in a sharp, loud slapping noise. He glared at the youngest Strong brother. "You can talk during _commercials_."

Strong Bad snorted loudly, and the glare swung from one brother to the next. "_Same goes for you._"

"Geez..." Strong Bad muttered, kicking the television lightly. It fizzled briefly. He frowned and glared at the television as the familiar blonde girl made her way to center stage. She smiled, all dolled up and giddy and wearing make-up. Strong Bad was tempted to think she was pretty this way, but he knew what she looked like beyond the foundation and eyeliner and thought better of it.

The previous contestant grinned and waved Marzipan along, his eyes lingering at her hips a little too long. She seemed to notice and giggled before starting her song. Homestar was too preoccupied to notice the two making eyes at each other, but Pom Pom, Strong Bad and nearly everyone else in the room had.

Pom Pom shot a nervous look at Coach Z, who merely shrugged and continued to stuff the bowl of pretzels down his pants for future consumption. The Cheat bit down on his nails, and Strong Bad ... well, Strong Bad loved every second of it.

He couldn't have planned it better himself. The lame, pretty boy competition and Marzipan, getting together when her boyfriend back home was throwing a party in her honor? That was the definition of irony. Or at least, it would be once Strong Bad whited out the previous definition in the town's only dictionary and replaced it with_ this_ all too perfect scenario.

"...thank you everyone!" The crowd wasn't as excited as they were for some other contestants, but she certainly hadn't been as bad as some of the others. It was a safe bet that Marzipan would be back next week. Before leaving the stage, the host -- Eric, or something equally as uninteresting -- had to read off her number for the week, begging for text votes. Strong Sad had already begun texting before the man had finished his sentence.

"YAY MARZIPAN," Strong Mad grunted loudly, his t-shirt wrapped around his wrist. It was the only body part he had that was narrow enough to fit the garment over.

"Wasn't she great?" Homestar squealed, breaking the silence in the room. Strong Bad laughed, which prompted a curious look from Homestar. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Strong Bad replied, biting his lip to keep his grin from getting too wide. Pom Pom's eyes narrowed dangerously at him, and he knew better than to mess with Pom Pom. Homestar, he could handle. He was an idiot.

The idiot's best friend was a completely different matter. Pom Pom was some sort of island dwelling super ninja, and Strong Bad never bothered fighting anything described as being super. Or a ninja.

"She was great, Homestar," Pom Pom assured, patting his friend on the shoulder. He sent a worried glance at the television. Marzipan had left the stage, and now the host just talked on and on about how important everyone's vote was. Pom Pom looked at his friend once again, and quietly hoped that Marzipan would at least have the good sense to be discrete.

"Even the judge with the stick up his butt liked her," The Cheat agreed. Strong Bad pushed himself up from his seat, visibly irritated. If everyone was just going to shoot him a death glare for bringing up Marzipan's supposed infidelity, this party was no longer a party.

"As much fun as it is watching Coach Z stuff food down his pants, I really need to get going," he stated, stretching. He cracked his back loudly. Homestar looked distraught. "Aw, but I wanted to play Typing Tutor!"

"You would. Come on, The Cheat," Strong Bad said, motioning for his young sidekick to head for the door. The Cheat forced down the rest of his soda and hopped up from a beanbag beside the television. "Comin'!"

"There's still a few more minutes left," Strong Sad said, looking over his shoulder at his elder brother.

"Don't care."

Commercials were over just as The Cheat made it to the door, his tiny hand barely large enough to grasp the gold door knob completely.

The host returned to the screen with a huge grin. "Well, ladies and gentlemen in the audience, it seems we're not just a _talent _competition anymore. Right, Nigel?"

The British judge remained stoic, he eyes narrowing at the host. Strong Bad recognized the look of complete disgust written across the judge's face, having been living with Homestar as his next door neighbor for almost ten years now. Nigel seemed to feel the cameras on him and forced a reply. "That's right."

"It's also a _love connection_, right?" The host's grin widened, and Pom Pom immediately paled.

Nigel's teeth gritted. "That's right."

"When are they gonna get back to Marzipan?" Homestar asked, bored now that she was off screen. Strong Bad leaned against the back of the couch, his attention recaptured. "Oh, they will."

Pom Pom sent him a withering glare, but Strong Bad paid him little attention. His eyes were glued to Homestar, waiting for the moment that the idiot would realize his girlfriend was two-timing him from a thousand miles away. He wished now that he had brought a camera.

Homestar glanced over his shoulder, a little confused. "Whaddya mean?"

Strong Bad opened his mouth to answer, but Pom Pom's glare grew threatening and he promptly shut it. He cleared his throat and shrugged, choosing not to answer Homestar's question. He'd rather live.

"Let's see a clip from backstage, shall we?" The host said, motioning to the huge screen behind him. The show's flashy logo appeared on the television, and a smartly dressed young woman with a microphone appeared. She smiled her bright red smile and motioned to Marzipan. "Well, folks, I have here with me Marzipan from Free Country after her dazzling performance. Tell me, Marzipan, what inspired your song choice?"

"She looks weird in all that make-up," Coach Z said, pointing his cake covered fork at the television. The King of Town snatched it with his pudgy hands and ate it moodily. He was still rather confused by all these people in his house, and the least they could do was share the food they brought with them.

"Shuuuush," Homestar said, bringing his index finger to his mouth for emphasis. "She's talking."

Strong Bad hopped over the couch and kicked his baby brother in the back of the head, forcing him forward and to the ground. Strong Sad moaned softly when Strong Bad slid into his seat next to Homestar. He opted to use Strong Sad as a footstool, and the youngest of the Brothers Strong just sighed and muttered 'it figures'.

Marzipan tossed a strand of her beach blonde hair over her shoulder and smiled. "Well, I wanted to do something about the dolphins, but I've been a little sidetracked. So I wanted to dedicate this performance to my amazing boyfriend."

"That'd be me," Homestar said smugly, thumbing his chest. Strong Bad could have sworn it was aimed at him, and he fought the urge to punch him in the face for it.

"You and Trent have been getting along rather well, haven't you?" the woman asked, grinning wide. Marzipan turned pink and nodded. "Oh yes, he's been _very_ supportive!"

"...my name's not Trent," Homestar said slowly, addressing the interviewer. "At least, I'm pretty sure it's not Trent."

"You're right, Homestar, it isn't," Strong Bad replied, slinking his arm around his shoulder. He smirked and drew him in closer, pointing a finger at the television. "Trent would be the guy making the moves on your girlfriend."

Homestar turned his attention back to the television and there he was. Trent. Trent, tall and blonde and handsome. Trent with a goatee. Trent with what had to be a faux leather jacket.

Trent with his arm around Marzipan's waist.

He couldn't even hear them talk. He stared, eyes unblinking, as they got rather cozy in each other's grip. The jealousy and the betrayal welled up from the pit of his stomach and into his throat. It flared behind his eyes until it was nearly impossible to see.

He pulled his stare from the television when Strong Bad grabbed his other arm, a sadistic grin on his face. "But I guess she's your _ex_-girlfriend now. Aw, don't worry Dorkstar! I'm sure she'll invite you to the wedding. You can even be the maid of honor!"

His grip tightened on his shoulder. "You might even catch the bouquet and find yourself a nice, new girlfriend named _Ted _to make eyes at all day."

Homestar sneered and elbowed him in the chest sharply, pulling himself up from the couch. "I'm going _home._"

"I'll walk you," Pom Pom offered quietly, and Homestar didn't object.

The remaining party goers all set their somber sights on Strong Bad, who was laughing much too hard to notice.

**-end chapter-**


	2. II Starshaped Bruise

**Author's Notes** Hello, cats and kids! Chapter two is finally here, after much procrastinating. I discovered _World of Warcraft_ so my freetime has been eaten up a bit X3; The good news is that I have a lot of chapter three written from a previously scrapped version of chapter two, so yay! Exciting!

I just wanna thank everyone for the reviews! They really keep me going. I want this story to be good and knowing you kids are already enjoying it and no boys are making out yet ... warms my heart, it does.

As always, still very open to critique and I am always looking for more beta readers! PM if interested :)

_I'm so so sick, can't handle it_

_Yeah, I talk shit, just deal with it_

_- 'Cuz I Can, P!nk_

**-start chapter-**

There was a gentle, shy nudge at his shoulder. He ignored it, but there was another, more forceful one to follow. He growled and waved it off, mumbling something about _Superman 64_ before the nudge became an outright shove. He opened his eyes, but the darkness remained-- his face buried in the corner of the well worn upholstery.

He groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position, bleary eyed and irritated.

"What time izzit?" he demanded, looking around for his unwelcome wake up call. His eyes squinted at something yellow just in front of him.

"C'mon, Strong Bad, Pom Pom's upstairs. He wants to talk to us," The Cheat said, poking his friend in the shoulder again. Strong Bad's lip curled in disgust and he waved his hand away

"Can't he want to talk to me at a normal time of day?"

"It's _noon_."

"My point remains valid," Strong Bad muttered, nonetheless getting up to his feet. He cracked his back and scratched at his chest, the unfamiliar feeling of fabric greeting him. He blinked and glared down at it before his memory or the previous day returned.

"What's with the tank top?" The Cheat asked, hopping up the steps two or three at a time, whatever he could manage. Strong Bad snorted and lifted the black cloth up to his neck.

"Dumbstar's pointy little elbow happened. You can see it from Sputnik," Strong Bad said, malice lacing his tone. The Cheat looked over his shoulder, giving him an amused smile.

"What's so funny?" Strong Bad demanded, eyes narrowed. "So I got a bruise on my chest. Big friggen deal."

"Have you looked at it lately?" The Cheat asked, now at the top of the stairwell. He waited for Strong Bad to catch up as the older boy tried to walk up the steps and examine his injury at the same time.

"Holy crap! How did that even _happen_?" he asked crossly. He prodded the star shaped bruise with his finger, wincing a bit. "I bet he did that on purpose."

The Cheat just rolled his eyes and ran ahead into the kitchen, pushing past Strong Sad as he did so. Strong Sad just muttered to himself and fiddled with his iPod, his headphones loosely wrapped around his neck. When Strong Bad walked past he looked his way with a condescending glare.

"Finally awake? You know, it was your turn for breakfast," he reminded him. Strong Bad opened his hand and mimicked his brother's unusually falsetto voice, using his fingers as a mock up of his mouth. Strong Sad just shook his head, choosing not to respond. He found himself forgetting which one was supposed to be the older brother sometimes.

Strong Bad arrived at the kitchen only to be greeted by numerous unwelcome guests already taking up all the good spots to sit or stand. Coach Z was gorging himself on some Lucky Charms when Strong Bad came by and pushed him from the closest available chair.

The coach cleared his throat, trying not to choke on the cereal. He settled down on the floor and Strong Bad pulled the chair towards him, sitting on it backwards, 80s teen movie delinquent style.

"You'd think you'd have been here earlier, Strong Bad... I mean, you _live_ here," Bubs pointed out from the next chair over. Strong Bad snarled at him, but otherwise made no response.

"What's this all aboort?" Coach Z asked, raising his hand. It was barely visible over the table.

Pom Pom leaned against the counter, looking more tired than anyone had ever seen him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to suppress a yawn. "This is about Homestar."

"You lost me," Strong Bad announced, standing up. Pom Pom glared at him. "_Sit_."

There was a second of hesitation on Strong Bad's part as weighed his options-- sit and listen or get the ever living crap kicked out of him by a super ninja, and _then_ sit and listen? The choice became clear and he sat down, glaring right back at Pom Pom.

"How's he doing?" Bubs asked. Pom Pom shook his head.

"Not too good. He hasn't been to work since that night. Heck, I don't think he's gone running or ... taken a shower." He wrinkled his nose at the thought. "He's just been sitting on his couch, eating marshmallows and drinking Mountain Dew. I only know this because he texted me to ask me to get him _more_."

Pom Pom placed his hands on the table. "And now, two days later, I'm exhausted. I've been trying everything I can think of to get him back on his feet."

"Have you tried picking him up?" Strong Bad asked, but no one, not even The Cheat, seemed amused by his joke.

"This whole Marzipan thing has really got him down, but I can't do it on my own. So I'm asking for help," Pom Pom said, standing upright. "If we all take shifts watching Homestar, I'm sure he'll realize we all care about him, and maybe he'd--" He stopped when Strong Bad raised his hand. "Uh, yes, Strong Bad?"

"I'm gonna go on the record here and say that no. No, I _don't_ care about Homestar Runner."

"Point noted," Pom Pom muttered. "Anyway, maybe he'd snap out of this funk a bit faster. I can't do this on my own, guys. I missed work yesterday just to spend time with him. I figure if we all take shifts it should be easy on all of us. Any volunteers?"

Coach Z's hand raised from below the table, and Bubs' went up just after that. The Cheat seemed to consider it, remembering that Homestar had a pretty sweet TV and what had to be an abundant amount of Mountain Dew and marshmallows by now and shrugged, his hand going up, too.

Strong Sad raised his hand after that, figuring it couldn't be any worse than trying to get his homework done at his own house. Strong Mad, who had been viciously guarding the fridge from The King of Town, bellowed a very loud 'I'LL DO IT'. The King of Town could probably be coerced later with a big pile of salt.

Pom Pom glared at Strong Bad as he sat directly across from him, his hand unraised and his eyes unblinking. "Well?"

"Well _what_?"

"Everyone else volunteered."

"If everyone else jumped off a bridge, I still wouldn't spend any of my freetime with Homestar Runner!" He stood up, hands clamped down on the back of the chair. "You couldn't pay me to hang out with him. No way, José."

"You're going over to help him," Pom Pom said, tone turning volatile. "You owe it to him. You're his friend."

Strong Bad's face dropped, and his shocked expression melted away into anger. "Friend? You gotta be friggen kidding me. We aren't friends."

"He thinks you're his friend. What's three hours of your life?" Pom Pom asked. Strong Bad met his glare with a sneer.

"It's three hours too many with Homestar Runner. You morons can waste your weekend babysitting him, there's not a snowball's chance in hell I'm going over," he replied, turning to leave.

"You have shift three, it starts at six tonight," Pom Pom ordered, and Strong Bad stopped where he was walking. He looked over his shoulder angrily.

Pom Pom waved a paper around. "There's seven shifts you need to work, one a day. You can get other people to work them, but they're your responsibility. It's only fair."

"Whatever," Strong Bad snorted, stomping out of the kitchen. He stopped in the living room to punch the wall roughly, leaving a small crack in the plaster.

Fair? _Fair?_ Strong Bad was never one to be concerned with 'fair'. Who cared if Homestar Runner was a miserable shell of his former self? That was an improvement over the invasive, overly enthusiastic lump of energy he used to be.

Strong Bad stomped down the steps, trying to make it so those in the kitchen could hear him. He jumped from the bottom three to the floor with a grunt.

How was it _fair_ that Pom Pom was telling him what to do, anyway? If he wasn't 7 foot tall and more muscle than he let on, Strong Bad would have slugged him. Maybe he'd get Strong Mad to take a swing later.

He crashed on the couch and glared at the television for a while. He liked keeping it on Telemundo a lot of the time-- Strong Mad's Spanish was rusty, and their dad had bolted by the time Strong Sad had been born. He never had to learn like his older brothers did. It ensured Strong Bad that no one bothered him when he watched television, even if the quality of the programs was lackluster.

He briefly paid attention to the screen-- oh, Esmerelda, would you ever learn? Rodolfo doesn't love you.

Strong Bad eventually bored of Mexican soap operas and he turned on his back to face the ceiling. He pulled at the collar of his tank top to get a better look at his bruise.

There it was, purple and red and tinged with yellow, star-shaped, still fresh and right over the heart. He could have sworn that Homestar had planned it that way. He couldn't decide what was worse-- the shape or the location.

He glared at it. Help Homestar out of his depression? He rolled over and faced the back of the couch. "Forget it."

Sleep came to Strong Bad soon enough, and when Strong Sad came down a few hours later to tell him to get ready for his shift to start, he was ignored completely.

Strong Sad wasn't exactly surprised at Strong Bad's actions. His brother was nothing if selfish, so Strong Sad decided to work his shift for him. He quietly collected his homework together before heading to Homestar's house.

Coach Z and Pom Pom greeted him in the living room. Strong Sad raised an eyebrow at them both, but it was written all over Pom Pom's face-- he just wanted to make sure _someone_ showed up.

"I'll see ya later, Homestar," Coach Z said, waving. Homestar grunted from his horizontal position on the couch, eyes half focused on the television set.

"Wow," Strong Sad said, slipping his headphones off. He looked over at Pom Pom. "I've never seen him like this." He got a somber nod in reply.

"You're working Strong Bad's shift?" Pom Pom asked, and Strong Sad nodded. "You know, you have your own at midnight."

"Uh, he might be working that one. For me," Strong Sad lied. "I have school tomorrow morning, so ..."

"Makes sense. Sorry for scheduling you so late. I'll switch it up next week," Pom Pom replied. He put a hand to his shoulder and smiled. "Try and get him to get off the couch, if you can."

Strong Sad probably wasn't the best person to leave Homestar alone with in this state-- that guy was a downer even on his best days. But Pom Pom was just grateful that someone came over.

He looked down at his cellphone, checking his messages quickly. "Well, I'm out of here. Good luck."

Strong Sad dropped his backpack by the foot of the couch and nodded again. "I'll try. Who's in next?"

"The Cheat," Pom Pom said. He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and headed for the door. He stopped when he gripped the doorknob. "See ya, Homestar."

He waited for some acknowledgement, but it never came. He sighed and left. Strong Sad shrugged and sat down on the floor by the couch.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Homestar. He couldn't say that he was fond of him-- he was much too perky and energetic for his liking. When he was a freshman and Homestar a senior, he also picked on him quite a bit. It was obviously just a failed attempt to get Strong Bad to be his friend, but wedgies and swirlies weren't easily forgotten.

Still, it was surreal and very disheartening to see him like this. Homestar was more depressing then _he_ was, an amazing feat.

He started doing some math problems and sighed, wondering if Homestar would mind if he switched the channel to a Doctor Who marathon later that evening. He doubted he'd even notice.

Elsewhere and later in the evening, The Cheat was searching the Strong household for things to do during his shift-- a pack of playing cards, an old Gameboy that _hadn't_ been put into a blender, some VHS tapes to watch, a newspaper jumble to do, _anything_. He had little success in Strong Sad's room, the guy had incredibly boring tastes. He settled for taking the ten dollars he found in his sock drawer and decided to search somewhere else.

Strong Mad offered him a cardboard box with a picture of a rocketship on it. The Cheat cocked his head at it and sighed, declining the generous offer. Strong Mad shrugged his massive shoulders and continued pretending to be a space captain.

"Maybe the basement," The Cheat muttered, slipping a cigarette into his mouth. He tried lighting it as he walked down the steps and yelped when Strong Bad was at the bottom, glaring at him.

"Man, you _know_ my mom's rule about smoking in the fri-- _are those mine?_"

"What are you even doing here?!" The Cheat demanded, waving the match out. He stuck the cigarette behind his ear.

"I live here."

"No, I mean, why aren't you at Homestar's?"

Strong Bad snorted. "You don't think I'd waste my valuable time with Mr. Prancey-time? Uh, yeah no. That is not a good way to spend my Sunday evening."

"So, who's there now?" The Cheat asked, shifting away so Strong Bad could get passed.

"Probably Strong Sad," he replied. He cracked his neck and headed for the kitchen. "We got anymore of those pizza pockets?"

The Cheat frowned. "Are you ever gonna go?"

"I might swing by later this week and egg his house, but I have a very tight schedule. Strong Sad needs a saran wrapped toilet, The King of Town needs his septic tank filled with dollar store sponges and cheap toilet paper, Coach Z needs a locker filled with dead fish, Bubs needs this week's fish order placed by the radiator ... lots of things on my itinerary this upcoming week." He poked his head in the fridge and looked around, grabbing a beer. He looked at the sticky note on the case from his mother telling him to replace whatever he drinks and he rolled his eyes. "And I gotta hit the beer distributor, apparently, which means I gotta hotwire Bubs' van."

He popped the cap off and took a swig. "So, yeah, busy week."

"Homestar's dumb and everything, but he's really broken up over this. It wouldn't kill ya to swing by and spend a few hours with him," The Cheat said, taking a seat at the table. Strong Bad glared at him. "It _might_."

The Cheat rolled his eyes. He wasn't exactly shocked at Strong Bad's callous behavior. Homestar had always been a bit of a pain, but he wasn't the devil. "I wish you'd reconsider."

"Pass. Hey, if you hit the store on your way home, grab me some pizza pockets. And not those friggen vegetarian ones with the foreign cheese. Those are gross. Those are Strong Sad food."

"If you get me cigarettes tomorrow, it's a deal," The Cheat said, grinning. Strong Bad sat down at the table next to him. "Those are bad for you."

"Those are bad for _you_," he countered. Strong Bad took another swig of beer. "Yes, but I'm not 11."

"I'm 15!"

"Same difference," Strong Bad laughed. "Fine. Make sure they're pepperoni this time. I think Strong Sad's being a vegetarian again this week."

"Again? He's just gonna snap and eat a whole box of bacon again," The Cheat said, raising an eyebrow. Strong Bad shrugged. "Hey, if it keeps him out of my food I don't care. More dead animals for me."

The Cheat looked like he was going to say something, but his coat pocket started beeping. He dug into it and pulled out a cellphone. "15 minutes 'til my shift starts. I'm gonna get going. See ya in a couple hours."

"Yuh-huh," Strong Bad nodded. "Try not to catch any of his stupid."

"Yeah, I'll try." He rubbed his nose and hopped off the chair, making for the door as casually as he could.

"And leave my cigarettes here," Strong Bad shouted, not looking in The Cheat's direction. There was a moment of cursing before the pack slid across the kitchen floor, hitting Strong Bad's foot. He smirked and picked them up. "Thank you."

**-end chapter-**


	3. III M

**Author's Notes** Hello, cats and kids! After a long break, chapter three is finally here. I rewrote this chapter four times, which is why there was such a delay! Even though it took a while I had to scrap a lot of words, I think the result is worth it. I have a better grip on Strong Bad's train of thought these days.

I want to thank my FList for always offering critique and support. I like when you guys kick my ass and say 'NO STRONG BAD DOES NOT THINK THAT WAY'. I want this story to be realistic and in-character, and I know my own personal bias won't allow that ... so thanks for the input! This chapter especially-- two of my FListers made the effort to go through and edit my chapter for me! You guys are the most wonderful ever and I can't thank you enough.

I also want to brag a little bit ... I changed my LiveJournal username! I'm now **homestar** at LJ, and you guys are all super jealous.

Anyways, still very open to critique and I am always looking for more beta readers! PM if interested :)

_My friend is trapped in a shame spiral_

_I'm worried about my friend's survival_

_Waiting around on the sea to collapse_

_Sticking his foot in his own traps_

_- Point Shirley, Rhett Miller_

**-start chapter-**

Ka-boom.

Strong Bad blew up the woodland creatures (and the zombies around them) for what had to be the millionth time. He had beaten Radioactive Deer Hunt five or six times just _this week_.

He let out a long, loud sigh. Strong Sad's eyes didn't stray from his book.

There was another louder, less natural sounding sigh a moment later and Strong Sad shut his book, sending his older brother a tame glare. "What?"

"I'm _bored_."

"You could start on that list of chores mom left you."

Strong Bad wrinkled his nose. "I'm not that bored. Come on, play Mario Kart with me."

"I have homework."

"So?"

"So play with The Cheat."

"I _can't_. He's at school," Strong Bad huffed, laying down. He tapped the buttons mindlessly, not caring what pixel critter he killed. "And when he gets back, Strong Mad will eat up all his time. Then YOU'LL go and I don't even have anyone to annoy."

"Well, maybe if The Cheat and I weren't working all your babysitting shifts, we'd have more time to entertain you," Strong Sad said, going back to his book, his voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe you just miss Homestar."

He could _feel_ the glare Strong Bad was sending him. "What?!"

"You heard me. He used to be here everyday, following you around like a lovesick puppy dog. Maybe you just miss his company," Strong Sad suggested. Strong Bad's face twisted into disgust.

"Are you kidding? These two weeks without him have been a total blast! I rock and roll _every day_ and I party at _least_ every other night! And by Saturday I hope to bring that up to seven days a week. Me, miss Homestar? Yeah, right." He snorted and mashed the buttons harder then ever. Die, bluebirds, die.

"The boy doth protest too much," Strong Sad mused quietly, and the controller whacked him on the side of the head. He flinched and let out a whiny 'ow'.

"That's it. I'm going to school to study," he said, snagging his backpack. Strong Bad was still swinging the controller like a mace when Strong Sad hurried up the stairs.

"Yeah, you better run," he called, slowing the twirling piece of plastic to a halt. He looked back at his screen-- game over. Stupid Strong Sad made him lose.

He rested his head on the arm of the couch and started up a new game. Homestar would always try to play this game with him, and once Strong Bad actually let him.

It was a bad idea-- Homestar ran around trying to defend the little animals, forcing Strong Bad to kill his digital self numerous times. _That_ part was strangely satisfying, but the impromptu wrestling match it caused later was a far different story. Being straddled and pinned to the ground by Homestar Runner within four or five seconds was painfully embarrassing. It didn't help that his family, The Cheat and even _Marzipan_ had all been there, laughing hysterically that the masked wrestler was taken down so easily. He had never been more grateful that his mask covered up most of his face. If anyone had caught him blushing Strong Bad would never hear the end of it.

He gritted his teeth at the memory. Him, miss Homestar? Ever since that too tall, too skinny athlete waltzed into his homeroom during Sophomore year his life had gone downhill.

He turned over. Homestar was a good year older then him, but he must have been held back a year at his old school. That made sense considering his grades were Cs at best. The teachers let him slide because of his outstanding athletic performance. That was inufriating-- Strong Bad would have killed for a free ride. Instead he had to study his butt off.

He wondered if Homestar's parents _ever_ made him study, or if they just put him in a hamster wheel and let him run to his heart's content. Actually, come to think of it ... he had never met Homestar's parents. He dismissed it. Anyone that spawned Homestar wasn't worth meeting.

He rolled over onto his back and squinted at the ceiling's recessed lighting. Two weeks without Homestar had started off great. He had egged his house once or twice. The yellowish stains had stayed there until it rained a few days later. He spray painted '_Homestar's a moron'_ onto his garage, but someone painted over it by the following day. Probably Pom Pom. He hadn't asked, and didn't care.

He'd written about forty Teen Girl Squads. They were much easier to plow through when Homestar wasn't standing over his shoulder, asking what was going to happen next. Sometimes he had good ideas, Strong Bad conceded. Once he had planned to tar and feather The Ugly One, but Homestar remarked that his vat of tar looked more like barbeque sauce than anything else. The rest of the story wrote itself.

He smiled to himself. Okay, maybe he wasn't _all_ bad. Homestar always grabbed his bill at the bar, and his fridge had the _good_ brands of beer. Pricey ones, from far off lands like Germany and ... Canada. Strong Bad's mother bought from some local distillery, and he was half certain that it was motor oil and cheap vodka, not beer.

Strong Bad sat up and glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon, and according to the time table it was his turn to see Homestar next. He mulled over the idea.

It would be a change of scenery, yes. And being with Homestar would remind him how awesome _not_ being with Homestar was. He tapped his chin. If nothing else, he could swing by, clear out his fridge and leave.

A solid plan. He jumped to his feet and headed upstairs. Strong Bad walked out of the house only to retreat back, shivering violently. Friggen winter.

He reached into the hall closet in search of something before he found it. A ratty, black and red hooded sweatshirt with a faded Limozeen logo ironed onto the back. He wore it almost every day in high school, thanks to the school's fairly strict 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy. Strong Bad detested dress codes, but figured a sweatshirt with no undershirt was rebellious enough while still conforming to their idea of what was and was not acceptable. Strong Sad eyed him from the kitchen table, apparently having decided that it was to cold to venture back to school.

"Where are you going?" he asked. Strong Bad tensed up.

"Nowhere."

"You aren't going to Homestar's, are you?"

"No." He zipped up the hoodie indignantly. "Of course not. I'm getting beer."

It was half true-- the _getting beer_ part, not the _not going to Homestar's_ part.

"At noon?"

"I plan my drunken Mario Kart parties ahead of time," Strong Bad shrugged, and walked out the door. Even with the added clothing it was still needlessly cold. He shivered and jammed his hands into his pockets.

Strong Sad shook his head and resumed reading his book in peace.

Homestar didn't live far-- up the street and a few houses down. Strong Bad looked over at the other houses as he passed by them. Cars in the driveway, mailboxes filled with junk, and a basketball just sitting on one of the lawns. He hardly knew his neighbors.

Free Country was a weird city, if one could call it that. No one who lived there worked there except Bubs. Strong Bad's mother was a registered nurse. She worked in the local hospital from time to time, but usually she traveled to help teach new nurses the ropes around the country. He sighed angrily. Right now she was living it up in Florida while everyone in Free Country froze to death. Spring couldn't come fast enough.

He shuddered at a particularly chilling gust of wind. The Strong family did have it a bit easy, in some respects. Strong Bad never once took out a student loan. His credit was practically perfect. Strong Sad was going to college full time without a single loan under his belt.

Still, all that education came at a price-- they may have money in the bank, but it was their mother's money and they weren't allowed to even think about it without her permission. As badly as Strong Bad wanted a car, mom refused to pony up the money until he either got a job or went back to school. He snorted. At 26, easing back into college would be way too awkward.

Strong Bad stopped in front of Homestar's house, looking it over. His gaze flicked towards the mailbox, which was filled to the brim with mail. He sighed and grabbed some of it, reading the return addresses on them as he pushed through the open front door.

The Cheat hopped up from the couch and hurried over excitedly. "Strong Bad! Hey man, what's happening?" he asked, tugging at his sleeve. Strong Bad unzipped the hoodie and dropped the mail on an end table.

"Not much. Holy crap, Homestar, do your parents just not have a phone or something? There's like a zillion letters over here," Strong Bad asked. He paused, waiting for the overly enthusiastic response he'd usually receive, but nothing came.

"Homestar? Hello, earth to Homestar?" He waited impatiently, and The Cheat laughed. "Man, don't bother. He's a zombie. What are you even doing here?"

"My shift starts at noon," Strong Bad said, shrugging his shoulders.

The Cheat's jaw dropped. "You're ... you're working your shift?"

Strong Bad's cheeks pinkened beneath his mask. "Yes. Jeez, don't sound so shocked."

"Did your brain melt or something? Have you been standing in front of the microwave? Are you some sort of evil clone? Weak Good? Are you Weak Good?"

"Am I what?"

"You know, are you from OPPOSITE LAND?" The Cheat asked, throwing his arms up in the air. "You're actually gonna spend time with Dumbstar?"

"Correction-- I'm going to spend time with Dumbstar's liquor cabinet," Strong Bad snickered, heading for the kitchen. The Cheat followed him, shaking his head.

"Seriously, man? The guy's half comatose and you're going to rob him?"

Strong Bad raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. That was my pla-" He stopped and turned around. "Wait a minute. Shouldn't you be at school?"

The Cheat grinned nervously. "Uh, it's Saturday?"

"It's Tuesday! Come on dude, out. Catch the next bus to school," he huffed, pointing out the door. The Cheat muttered angrily under his breath. "I don't have money for bus fare."

The excuse was met with a glare and Strong Bad snapped up Homestar's wallet, pulling out two dollars. "Here. Go nuts. Now get out of here."

"Fiiine," The Cheat sighed angrily, taking the bills. "I'm going, I'm going."

Strong Bad watched him leave and then inspected Homestar's wallet. He raised an eyebrow-- a driver's license? Homestar knew how to drive? He squinted at it for a moment, confused.

Something seemed off. The ID was legit, so that wasn't the issue. He sat down at the kitchen table and tapped the card on it a few times. The picture was recent, Homestar didn't have a mustache or anything. It wasn't out of state. Why did it look so weird, then?

It finally clicked. The name on the card. He inspected it a bit closer.

Homestar M. Runner.

He looked out at the living room, brow furrowed in confusion. "Your name is _actually_ Homestar? What, are your parents hippies or something?"

No response. Oh, right-- half comatose.

He grumbled angrily before slipping the ID back into the proper slot. He continued having a conversation with Homestar. "Seriously, man. I'm having a really hard time believing that." Strong Bad got up from the table and slipped the wallet back onto the microwave.

He stopped to grab a beer-- a _Canadian_ beer-- from the fridge and plopped down on the unoccupied side of the couch. He took a swig and nudged Homestar with his foot. "So what does the 'M' stand for?"

Homestar didn't even look his way-- he just took a swig from a nearly empty bottle of Mountain Dew. Strong Bad kicked him harder.

"Come on, man, I didn't come over here to talk to myself for three hours. You're such a friggen chatterbox. Quit being mopey," he snapped and Homestar sent him a glare before he changed the channel and turned up the volume.

"You do not care about Shamwows enough to justify having the volume at 60," Strong Bad complained. "My mom doesn't even care about Shamwows that much."

He reached over at snatched the remote from him, turning down the volume and changing the channel in process. He waited for a moment, for Homestar try and get it back, to whine about having his precious channel changed ...

But nothing happened. Homestar continued to stare at the television mindlessly. Strong Bad tapped his fingers on his knee, visibly irritated.

He hated losing. That wasn't a secret. And although it wasn't a _real_ competition like a race or a high score in a video game, Strong Bad had been trying to rile Homestar up and it wasn't _working_. He was _losing_.

Just one word, he decided. He just wanted one word and then he'd prove that he could do it, that he could get Homestar to respond in a halfway proper manner. Seeing Homestar like this was unsettling.

Curled up on the end of the couch, clutching a room temperature bottle of Mountain Dew. He didn't even _look_ like himself-- his hat was on the floor near an empty bag of potato chips, and he wasn't wearing a star on any article of clothing. Just a white tank top, a pair of red boxers and a mismatched pair of socks.

Strong Bad went ahead and kicked him, smirking. There was a brief pause before he went ahead and nudged him again.

"Come on, man, play Mario Kart with me."

Homestar's eyes flicked towards him, but then back at the television. Strong Bad grinned triumphantly. Homestar was always desperate to play video games with him, and here Strong Bad was, dangling the offer in front of him. If Homestar was a starving dog, then playing video games with Strong Bad was a t-bone steak.

Strong Bad hopped off the couch and got to work plugging the ancient Super Nintendo into the back of the television. He made a show of blowing into the cartridge before he snapped it into place. He gave Homestar a smirk before he placed the controller in front of him and started up a race.

The Princess refused to move from the lower half of the screen while Mario tore up the rainbow colored track of the top half. It was like that for the first two laps, Strong Bad growing less and less patient with Homestar's defiance. Winning wasn't satisfying unless Homestar tried.

And then, suddenly, the go-kart moved. Strong Bad turned his head. Homestar had pushed himself upright, stubbornly glaring at the screen as he tried to catch up. His opponent almost forgot to continue racing.

Homestar managed one lap before Strong Bad got past the finish line. He turned to glare at him. "Again."

Strong Bad smirked-- the one word he needed. "And give up my title as champion? Let me think about it... no." He put the controller down and got up to leave. Homestar lunged forward and snagged his sleeve, glaring up at him. "Come on! One more race."

One more race turned into twenty-seven more races. Homestar eventually reclaimed his title as the Master of Mario Kart, but Strong Bad could keep reminding him that he had won the first race.

"I'm hungry," Homestar muttered, after victory number twenty-three. He stood up and stretched his back out, grabbing his mail as he headed for the kitchen. He dropped the stack of letters from his parents into the garbage on his way to the fridge.

Strong Bad followed and scooped them up. "Dude, these are from you mom and dad. You're not even gonna read them?"

"How's Marzipan doing?" Homestar huffed, searching through his fridge.

There was a pause as Strong Bad looked around. "Uh, how the crap should I know?"

Homestar pushed some leftovers aside. "How are her parents? Are you two engaged yet? When's the wedding? We hope you name the first one after your grandfather, we're praying for sons, blah blah blah."

He grabbed an apple and shut the fridge, visibly annoyed. "No, I'm not gonna read them. Why should I?"

Strong Bad took a seat at the kitchen table and rested his chin in his hand. "Guess you got a point."

Homestar took a bite of his apple and sat across from him. They were quiet for a few moments before Homestar suddenly spoke up again.

"It's Michael."

Strong Bad was snapped out of his thoughts. "Who is?"

"The 'M'. It stands for Michael. It's my middle name," Homestar shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. Strong Bad blinked a few times before it clicked.

"Oh! Right, on your ID. Man, I asked that hours ago. I totally forgot. Michael, huh," he repeated. It was weird picturing a normal name like Michael on a guy like Homestar. "And your real name's Homestar?"

"It has been since I turned eighteen, at least," he shrugged, prompting a 'huh' from Strong Bad. Homestar snickered. "I got it changed."

"You ... _changed_ your name to Homestar?"

"Yes."

"..._why?_"

"What do you mean 'why'? Everyone calls me Homestar anyway, it might as well be my name," he shrugged.

There was a pause before Strong Bad spoke again. "What was it before?"

Homestar's pale cheeks flushed slightly and he shook his head. "N-nothing, it's nothing important," he replied, looking a bit flustered.

Strong Bad grinned. "I gotta know. Tell me."

"You tell me yours," Homestar challenged. "I don't even know your real name. Why should I tell you my old one?"

"Because-" Before Strong Bad could finish his request, the door opened and Pom Pom's voice called out to them.

"Anyone here?"

Pom Pom looked at the couch in disbelief, Homestar obviously missing from his usual spot. He listened for running water-- no, not in the shower. "Homestar?"

"In here," Strong Bad shouted and Pom Pom jumped at the sound of his voice. He entered the kitchen, brow furrowed in confusion. "_Strong Bad?_"

"Hey," he said, waving. Homestar tossed his core into the trash from his seat. Strong Bad grinned. "Nice shot, dork. Bet ya can't do it again."

"Watch me," Homestar huffed, grinning nonetheless. He pulled a napkin from box on the table and balled it up, tossing it in the trash. Pom Pom stood there, staring.

"Uh. I just came to check up on you, Homestar. D-did you eat today?" he asked, shaking his head. He was talking to Homestar, and, even more surprising, he was getting a response.

"Uh huh. Just had an apple," Homestar said, tossing another napkin in the trash. "Three for three."

"I'd say do four, but I don't know if you can count that high," Strong Bad remarked. Homestar sent him a glare.

"Strong Bad, can I talk to you for a second?" Pom Pom interrupted, tugging at his sleeve. Strong Bad followed him into the other room. "What's up?"

"What did you do?"

Strong Bad blinked up at him. "Um. Context please?"

Pom Pom motioned to the kitchen. "Homestar. How did you get him to get up and ... he's TALKING and smiling and laughing and ... how? What did you do?"

"Oh, that." Strong Bad made a dismissive snorting sound. "I made him play video games with me."

"I've tried that. He never responds," Pom Pom said, looking frustrated. Strong Bad just shrugged.

"I guess he'd rather play with me. Hey, do you know what his name used to be?" he asked. Pom Pom titled his head to one side before he sighed.

"Yes, but I swore to never tell. You're telling me you just made him play video games and now he's up and about and acting totally normal? Did you talk to him about Marzipan yet?"

"No, why would I want to do that?" Strong Bad asked, disgusted at the very idea. "I just came over here to kill time, not to be Dumbstar's therapist. Besides, I don't think he wants to talk about her anyway? Would you?"

"He should," Pom Pom stated firmly. "It's the healthy way to recovery."

"Don't care," Strong Bad said, shrugging. He zipped up his hoodie. "You're here, so I can roll, right? He doesn't need me to babysit anymore."

Pom Pom nodded and watched him go, brow furrowed in thought before he went back into the kitchen.

Homestar looked up at him. "Did Strong Bad leave?" Pom Pom could hear the disappointment in his voice.

He sat across from him and nodded. "Yeah, he did. So you feeling better?"

"I guess," Homestar replied dismissively, no longer looking at him. He continued to roll up napkins and throw them in the trash. Pom Pom watched him for a moment.

"Your mom called this morning," he said, watching Homestar toss the napkin. It missed the trash can, and Homestar didn't make another one.

Pom Pom waited for a response, but the words never came.

**-end chapter-**


End file.
